


burning boy

by southwestwind



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Vilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 18:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southwestwind/pseuds/southwestwind
Summary: wilbur has a fire burning inside of him.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 11





	burning boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fromjannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromjannah/gifts).



> i get why you love wilbur so much now. i do and god i love him too.  
> was watching the wilbur soot dreamsmp finale earlier and had an idea  
> this is about the dsmp characters not the creators. enjoy!

_I._

Wilbur was on fire. He had been shot by a flaming arrow, but that wasn't just it. There was a fire inside of him. It grew with each passing day, each time he thought about L'Manberg. Or "Manberg" as Schlatt had renamed it when he became president. It grew as he thought about how he was exiled from his own country, he, the founder and leader and lover of the country, was exiled. By the man who swooped in to take the election.

He knew that he could be considered the villain now. He was the one planning to take back the country he was exiled from, he was the one who laid the TNT everywhere. He was the one who had forced Tommy into doing something he didn't want to the first time. He knew that he was partially the reason that Tubbo had died and Techno's hands. He knew all of that. He didn't have a problem with it, really. It was just feeding the flame inside of him. 

Flame wasn't the right word for it, really. Forest fire would be better. It consumed him, filled his every waking day, grew every second. He wasn't sure what he was without this feeling inside him, the burning feeling that was going to destroy him soon. Just like how he was going to destroy L'Manberg.

He was standing on that tower, he was talking to Dream privately, he was watching Schlatt do whatever he was saying, and his thoughts roared through him with rage, his thoughts of destroying the place that he had loved so much. Those thoughts came through in when he shouted at Schlatt, because Schlatt insulted his son, and even if they weren't on the best of terms, no one insulted his son, especially not like _that._

_II._

Wilbur was on fire. They had won back L'Manberg. Tommy had made his speech. Wilbur had made a speech. Tubbo had made a speech. Three of the original founders (fuck Eret still, even if they had helped with them taking back L'Manberg).

It wasn't good enough, it wasn't _enough_. Not for him, not for this feeling, this rage, the desire that was burning inside him. This was only fuel. A splash of gasoline that made the flames jump higher and higher, jumping at the chance to consume everything. If he didn't do this, it was going to consume him. 

He couldn't take it anymore, couldn't fight this feeling. He had to give in. He watched as Tommy and Tubbo stood smiling together, watched while he backed away, turned his back on those who he loved. He wanted to say that he was sorry, but he really, really wasn't.

He knew the path he was taking. It was like he was on autopilot, he had been here too many times before, times where the inferno inside hi and roared and he'd been able to hold it back, push it down for just a little bit longer. He knew that wasn't going to happen this time. 

There it was. The room he had come to, the room where he'd been so close to blowing it all away.

The scribbles on the walls, the anthem of the country that he had fought for, that he had worked for that he loved. That he was about to destroy. 

He could feel the blaze within him, within every muscle that he moved, every breath he took. 

It wouldn't take long now. All he had to do was step forward, press that button. It would all be over. He wouldn't feel like this anymore. He wouldn't feel like every time he came to this place that he was going to burn to death, from the inside out. It would feel wintry, like the depths of the tundra, it would be a relief after these months of trying to swim in lava.

He was going to do it, he was going to hit the button, hit that button and be free. Something stopped him.

His father's voice washed over him like a wave. It told him not to do it. It made the flares calm just a little. 

And then the flames roared back, larger and louder and more powerful than ever and he did it. He pressed the button, and watched his country disappear, watched it explode in front of his eyes.

There was only the cool crash of relief. And then the words uttered from his lips, a shout, a cry, and then "kill me."

_III._

Wilbur was on fire. His father had done as he had asked, had stabbed him with his own sword. He was on fire and he didn't realize that it could feel this good.

Somehow this was more relief than he had felt after he had pressed that button. They had happened less than a minute apart but he knew, he knew, that there was nothing like the feeling. Freedom. Who knew death would be the real emancipation? Not forming L'Manberg, not winning it back, but being slain by his father. Fire. Freedom. Peace.

He was on fire, and then he wasn't.

The cold rushed over him and the flames were extinguished but it didn't feel good it made him feel empty, hollow, and echoing cavern, just like this place he was in.

_Was this the afterlife? Was it all over? Was this it?_

Wilbur hadn't realized that with fire came warmth, the protection of the waves of heat from a campfire. Without it he was cold, lost, without light too. He was wandering, alone in the vast nothingness that enclose him from all sides. Somehow death was better than what came after.

Wilbur wasn't on fire anymore.

_IV._

Wilbur was on fire. He wasn't and then he was.

He blinked his eyes, and Dream was standing over him, face a mix of shock and sinister glee. 

Wilbur was on fire, after so much time of being cold it was like he was new again. 

There was obsidian around him. There was color. He hadn't seen color in so long. Everything was empty, shades of grey on grey. 

There was lava falling behind him. He could feel the heat radiating off of it, and his brain screamed at him to touch it, to feel whole as the flames, real flame touched his body again. 

His body. He had a body. Up _there_ he was just void, somehow shaped but not there. He had hands and eyes, eyes that blinked and saw and took in. He was real again, back in the real world, not the one that was bare but full of flitting shadows that never stayed long.

Wilbur was warm. It wasn't freezing here. His body didn't feel like it was wracked with chills every second, he wasn't shivering with the cold ache that filled his not-body when he was dead.

Was he alive? The evidence all pointed to it. But how? How could he be back? Phliza had killed him, just like he had asked. His last life gone. He knew that. There was no way that he could really be back.

But Wilbur was on fire again. And that meant that the world soon would be too.


End file.
